


Step One: Cut Your Hair

by ShahHira



Series: The Three-Step Process To Achieving Peace [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Adoptive family, Angst, Anxiety, Barber AU, Depression, Healing, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Phone Anxiety, Sibling Bonding, Slow Burn, Social Anxiety, Therapy, Touch-Starved Hanzo, all the anxieties, as slow a burn a slow burn can get in 4 chapters, find em all, getting better, think the braids from the lone wolf/okami hanzo skins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2018-11-19 23:28:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11323956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShahHira/pseuds/ShahHira
Summary: Getting a haircut is harder than it should be for Hanzo. But with it comes some interesting encounters at Blackwatch Barbers.





	1. The First Step Is Always The Hardest

**Author's Note:**

> O wow I started a completely new fic when I should be updating my previous one whooops
> 
> So I was trying to write the next scene for L&F but I had been working on it for 5 days straight and I think I finally reached a creative exhaustion with that fic. So I thought maybe I should start on something else to power through it and I wrote this in 3 days and you can tell esp towards the end xD
> 
> L&F is still my priority fic so don't expect updates to come out frequently for this - just a little indulgent thing I thought of while at the salon, which by the way, even though I have like hair down to my butt I only go for trims and I know nothing else so anything inaccurate is my own fault lol

Hanzo tucked a lock of hair behind his ear.

It fell out immediately, but he didn’t notice nor care. Squinting past the afternoon sunlight, Hanzo took his hands out of his sweatshirt pockets. Then replaced them, then took them out again, wishing he had brought something to fidget with. He could not turn back now.

He lifted his chin higher. No, he _would_ not turn back, no matter how cowardly he wished to be. Genji had recommended the place, citing that it was the best of its kind in Hanzo’s neighborhood and he knew the owners, despite living more than two hours away and having visited the place only once, to Hanzo’s recollection. Genji had also gone through the trouble of calling ahead and making an appointment for today, accommodating his phone anxiety that Hanzo was admittedly not trying very hard to overcome lately.

He sighed. He supposed that was part of the problem. His therapist had been patient, but lately even they were pushing him to take this “one small step in the right direction,” as they put it. And as much as Hanzo was more than happy to disconnect from the world as he had in years past, these things didn’t just happen overnight.

But what mattered now was that Hanzo had finally mustered up the courage to get up and walk out of his dark, safe apartment to this place – even if he was dressed like a slob, even if he was one step away from trembling in genuine fear, even if most people didn’t understand why this was such a big deal for him.

The urge to stand and bake here in the Sacramento heat rather than enter the small building in front of him was sounding more and more preferable the longer he waited.

Steeling himself, Hanzo pushed through the doors of Blackwatch Barbers. He waited for the habitual panic of entering a public space to settle down before breathing in the cool indoor air, feeling slightly more clean now that the humid air had left his lungs. The reception desk was empty, so Hanzo padded into the main area.

No one. The rows of chairs were clean but empty, the vanities neat and orderly, as if they hadn’t been touched today. Not even the barber was…

_Oh_ , Hanzo jumped in surprise, but thankfully made no sound when he saw a pair of long, brown-clad legs propped up on a booth in the far corner, virtually invisible from his view. He couldn’t even see the person’s upper body. Was that a client? Should he wake him? Were those cowboy boots?

The answer was taken out of his hands when the individual uncrossed his ankles, followed up by the most over-the-top, obnoxious yawn Hanzo had ever heard in his life.

It was so ridiculous, it reminded him of Genji. The image made him giggle. And then he tried to cover it with a choked snort when it reverberated throughout the shop.

The person poked his head out lightning fast. Hanzo gawked at the man in front of him – boot-cut jeans, a perplexing belt buckle, and a red plaid shirt, all combined with those honest-to-god real cowboy boots somehow made it look like he fitted in the old-fashioned salon. He couldn’t tell if his hair and beard were tastefully tousled or just plain old unkempt.

Hanzo stood stock still, willing his deer-in-the-headlights expression to go away. Miraculously, he finally managed to stammer out, “I have an appointment.”

This seemed to make the man snap out of it as well. “Appointment? For today?” he mumbled more to himself than Hanzo, and walked over to the reception desk. Hanzo followed.

It took the man a while, clicking every so often on the computer behind the desk with a dazed look on his face. Hanzo stood there awkwardly, wishing he could shrink even deeper into his hood, and was in the middle of debating whether he should cut his losses and leave now when the man spoke up.

“Ah, Hanzo?” He looked up with a smile that looked effortless. “I’m Jesse. Right this way.”

Jesse led him back into the main area. “Sorry about that, Wednesday’s our slow day so I like to grab a nap when I can. Whaddya got a hankerin’ for today? Highlights, dyes, anythin’ fancy, anythin’ simple. Somethin’ different?”

As he talked Jesse swung the chair he was in towards Hanzo, gesturing for him to sit. Hanzo did, distracted by the flurry of words. Hanzo felt himself deflate: this man liked to talk. “Ah…”

Pungent smells wafted from the products on the shelf. “I was thinking…” He caught sight of himself in the front mirror, and the weight of what he was about to do suddenly gripped him hard.

“Mind takin’ off your hood first?” Jesse asked. “Ain’t you a bit hot in that anyway?”

Hanzo ignored the snoopiness of that request, gulping down against the muscles that had tightened his throat. He took it off stiffly, relieved for the dark long-sleeved shirt he wore underneath.

“Hoo-wee, that is a great mane of hair you got there,” the barber announced plainly, the compliment taking Hanzo completely off-guard. He registered Jesse’s low appreciative whistle before his brain practically blanked out by the fingers gently tugging at the locks for observation.

“Well maintained, too. Or is that just good genes?” Jesse continued with the questions, busy assessing his hair with practiced looks. It tumbled in wavy locks that just started to reach half-way down his back, billowing out like a halo framing his face. Hanzo hardly took the time to do anything to it besides shampoo and condition yet it remained voluminous and hardy. Perhaps it _was_ his genes, because Hanzo couldn’t remember the last time he’d actively taken care of his hair. Some days he couldn’t even bother brushing it. No, definitely not well maintained at all.

“Well, at the very least I have to do a quick wash. Don’t worry, it’s just standard practice,” the barber eyed the tresses of open hair, plucking up a bunch in between two fingers, “Want me to take care of these split-ends for ya?”

He motioned for Hanzo to follow him into the back area, where there were multiple sink stations set up. Hanzo sat down cautiously, holding in a jump when alternating sensations of metal and organic hands went up the nape of his neck and deposited his hair into the sink, leading his body back into a reclining position.

When the water started running Hanzo felt he could finally relax, despite his blood pressure getting agitated by every little thing. Admittedly, he was a little embarrassed at his reactions; blown out of proportion as they were, they were something he had come to terms with a long time ago, and he had learned to deal with them with minimal fanfare and a lot of practice.

He nevertheless closed his eyes in contentment, savoring the massaging hands digging into his scalp. But this would hopefully be the last time he’d ever show his face here again, if he went through with his decision.

Soon the barber was done, blotting Hanzo’s hair with a towel and leading him back to the booth. He always did love that salon-fresh feel, at least from what little he could remember back in Japan.

The barber ran a comb through his damp hair, catching tangles and dispatching them with ease. It took Hanzo a moment to decipher that a question was being directed to him:

“Did you pick out a style or are we gonna do this all day?”

Jesse’s slight smirk accompanied by a raised eyebrow had Hanzo automatically send a glare through the mirror, before he realized what was being asked of him.

Suddenly, the world muted against the blood pounding in his ears. The thought of cutting his hair made his path to recovery all the more real, and it frightened him like nothing before.

Maybe he wasn’t ready for this. Maybe he needed more time. His breath quickened, his skin on fire. Staying in this chair was torture, waiting for the razor to come down to signal the change in his life that he frankly was unable to come to terms with just yet, but if not now, when? When, _when_ –

“Just a trim is fine,” he said, almost so quiet that Jesse was straining to hear.

“Sure thing,” the barber went to work, whistling a tuneless melody.

The barber was taking his time, but at least he didn’t attempt to make any more conversation as Hanzo tried to restore his composure, frayed as it was. Hanzo did not think he noticed his internal struggle.

Every _snip_ of the scissors, however, threw his senses into overdrive, leaving him irrationally on edge – that if he looked away for even a second all his hair would be in a heap on the floor. He held himself rigidly in the chair, forcing down the ridiculous suspicion.

“Jesse.”

A mild voice came to his right, and Hanzo glanced to see a man sitting in one of the far chairs, dressed in casual attire, a beanie on his head. The man talked to Jesse for a good while in a language that Hanzo didn’t understand. How long had he been there?

“ _Ten cuidado_.”

He walked up to Jesse, attention directed towards some papers in his hand. His mouth was set in a frown that looked well-worn. “ _Fíjate que le tiemblan las manos. Estan temblando_.”

Just as quietly as he materialized he left, footsteps soundless, expression betraying nothing of what he said.

Whatever he said though, seemed to have an effect on Jesse: the whistling stopped, a more serious air taking over that had him focused on the job. Hanzo felt a knot loosen inside his stomach when the barber fished out a mirror and pointed it at his neatly trimmed ends, still mostly the same length.

_Nothing had gone wrong_ , Hanzo sighed in relief as he walked on wobbling legs towards the reception desk, absorbed in feeling the uncommonly silken strands slip through his fingers. No drastic changes, no panicking over wrong decisions. This was simply a trial run, he calmed his scatterbrained thoughts. Just to get familiar with the process and prepare for any contingencies.

The elation bubbling inside him was absurd. But he had done it. Technically.

“Thank ya kindly,” Hanzo paid Jesse, who seemed to be back in good spirits. He seemed to be proud of his work, if the appreciative glances that swept over Hanzo were anything to go by. “Here’s my card.” He plucked up a business card and leaned an arm on the desk, reeking of confidence and self-assuredness.

Hanzo took it. “‘Gabriel Reyes’?”

Jesse deflated with comedic timing. “That is not my card,” he faltered and dove under the desk, coming up with another card, this time with a sheepish smile. “We’re mostly free during the weekdays but give us a call just to be sure.”

“We also got a website,” Jesse continued. “Check it out, it’s real fancy. Our social media manager takes good care of that.” He wrote the web address on the card. “Got a nifty little automated appointment maker thing, too, so you can text the number if you’re on the run. Made by the same person. Can you believe her? So amazing with computer code.”

_Heavenly_ , Hanzo approved greatly.

Jesse then pulled out a crumpled slip of paper and set it on top of the card. “Coupon for yerself, being your first visit here and all. Lil’ incentive for coming back,” he explained.

Hanzo gave a quick once-over at the coupon, at a loss as to what ‘beard primping’ entailed. Still, he found himself leaning more and more towards the idea of coming back.

Now that the stressful ordeal was over, Hanzo thought this Jesse fellow wasn’t too bad – if quite eccentric.

“Thank you,” he took his leave.

Down the sidewalk, Hanzo was light in his steps, chin held a little bit higher in self-indulgent pride. His therapist was right, he grudgingly concluded – such a little thing like this was already making him feel way better. Hanzo grumbled when he tried to put his hands into his pockets, realizing too late that he had left his sweatshirt at the barbershop.

_No matter_ , he sighed, not letting it affect his good mood as he entered his apartment. He’d go back and get it soon enough.

He collapsed on the sofa and reflected on his accomplishments today, tired yet feeling more determined than before.

He could do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation: "Be careful." (Be careful in this context means 'keep an eye out' in like a worried kind of way, not like a 'hanzo is a monster god jesse watch out')  
> "Pay attention to his hands. They're shaking."
> 
> Hanzo at the beginning: "im melting and i deserve it"


	2. Just Have Courage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo tries again to visit the barbershop, but instead he gets distracted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo remember when I said there wouldn't be many updates for this well, I started writing this like 5 hours after the 1st chapter guilty as charged

Hanzo found himself nervous all over again.

Not like an agitated, choking nervousness, but an excited energy that flowed through his veins, motivating him to get out of bed before noon for the first time in weeks. Granted, he had spent most of that energy pacing aimlessly in his living room for a total of two hours, alternating between that and restlessly jiggling his leg on the sofa. The week before he had checked out the barbershop’s website, intrigued and wanting to do his own research so that he’d be prepared for his next – and hopefully last –trip.

He was impressed by the surprisingly tasteful graphic design, going so far as to keep with old home-style cozy barbershop. His attention, though, was grabbed by the distinct lop-sided grin of one Jesse McCree on the front page, winking right at Hanzo.

Hanzo couldn’t help but laugh out loud. They definitely knew where their marketing strengths lie.

Booking an appointment through the streamlined texting system led him back here in front of Blackwatch’s doors, numerous reference pictures in hand and nervous energy quelled, though still rolling underneath his skin.

Today was the day he’d finally move on.

He stepped into the lobby, déjà vu hitting his senses. This time, however, the reception desk was manned by Jesse, in addition to a woman who appeared to have an affinity for purple, if her gradient-shaded hair and clothing didn’t give it away: Sombra, based on the employee profile on the website. They were leaning over the computer, Sombra talking over a rather annoyed Jesse in Spanish.

Hanzo was beginning to question whether everyone in Blackwatch was required to adhere to their own unique dress code when he saw Jesse in literally the same attire as his last visit except with slightly differing colors and a cowboy hat on.

“Hello,” he interrupted the two. Jesse looked like he needed saving.

The barber sat up straight in his chair, reacting quite strongly to being taken off-guard even though Hanzo was trying to accomplish the exact opposite. Sombra glanced up but said nothing, instead giving a slim smirk.

Still, Hanzo couldn’t help but get a dig in. “Good to see you aren’t sleeping on the job like last time.”

His confidence soared when Sombra gave a loud guffaw, laughing harder when Jesse’s scowl deepened. “Did you now, Jesse?” She patted his back and walked away, apparently satisfied with that piece of information.

The lack of a positive response from Jesse dampened his mood, however. “I am sorry if I got you into any trouble,” he tried to mend.

“Naw, no need to worry ‘bout me,” Jesse immediately placated, a smile back on his face. “Sombra’s an annoying lil’ shit of a sister that likes to tease. She already knew about that, just tries to embarrass me in front of the customers.”

He got up from the desk and walked around to lead Hanzo into the main area. “So you said in your texts that you wanted to pick out a new hairstyle?”

The fact that Jesse had read his texts made his heart jump for no reason until he realized that it was most likely just the automated texting system relaying his purpose for coming to Blackwatch, precisely as he had messaged those responses last week. “Yes. I’m not too familiar in this area of expertise, so I picked out a few designs to share...”

Jesse pulled up a chair in front of Hanzo, who had sat in the same seat from his last visit. “Let’s see,” he scrolled through the chosen pictures, glancing up at Hanzo’s face every so often with a considerable amount of concentration.

Jesse snickered, then got up without warning. “Hold on to your horses,” he got behind Hanzo’s chair and swiveled it towards the mirror, “This is gonna be amazing…”

Fingers worked their way into Hanzo’s hair, deftly sectioning segments off. Hanzo’s lips twitched into a suppressed smile before he tamped it down, chiding himself for being so sensitive about a stranger’s touch. The amount of interest this barber was taking him – _in his hair_ , he meant – was not something he had much recent experience in, but that didn’t mean he had to react so strongly.

Still, Hanzo supposed, it wasn’t a bad feeling, the heat climbing up his neck. He could get used to this, even if it was just for a little while.

“Ta-da!” Jesse exclaimed.

Hanzo blinked at the twin buns of hair that clung to the sides of his head. “That is… not a style I picked out at all.”

“Yeah I know, but,” Jesse confessed, “I thought you might look badass as all hell like that.” Then boldly, “And I was right.”

Hanzo sucked in a breath. Then he locked eyes with Jesse, a sly smirk on his lips. “You can never go wrong with the Princess Leia look.”

They both burst into laughter on cue, the action coming unexpectedly easy to Hanzo. He looked in the mirror again, fighting valiantly against the snickers threatening to erupt again – it looked very silly on him. Like something Genji would have done had he been given the chance to make a fool of his older brother.

Hanzo took out his phone and snapped a picture before doubt could seize him, sending it to Genji.

After that, Jesse couldn’t seem to get his fill, experimenting with increasingly radical different hairstyles that put an enraptured focus to his work. He tied and twisted and pinned hair into places and positions that Hanzo never imagined beyond a simple tie-up or braid. He had even brought out the curling iron, though those didn’t last very long on his stubborn hairtype.

There really was no real purpose to this… little consultation session they were having, if Hanzo could even call it that. If anything, Jesse was just wasting his time, sometimes following Hanzo’s suggestions and sometimes infuriating him by doing something incredibly stupid like putting up twin pigtails with goofy sidebangs, all with that easy-going smile of his.

And yet Hanzo let him. He let him have his fun, he let Jesse inch closer and closer until his shoulders relaxed so he didn’t have to reach as far, he humored Jesse’s silly “recommendations” with a pout that should not have been that adorable on a grown man. He’d let him get away with a lot of things if it meant those talented fingers would stay on his scalp…

Ugh, he was being ridiculous. But so _what_ if Hanzo let himself indulge on the barber’s assets? The other man was doing the same.

And damned if Jesse didn’t make him look good, Hanzo marveled at the intricate narrow braids looping around his head like a crown, enjoying in the small thrill in the bumps and ridges with his fingertips. A sneaking glance was all it took to see that Jesse was appraising him, too.

A loud knock sounded from the entrance, and Sombra stormed out from the back area. She came back a moment later with a bunch of delivery bags in her hands. “McCree, can’t you hear the stupid door? The guy’s been knocking on it for five minutes.”

Jesse tore his eyes away from Hanzo’s in the mirror. “Say wha’? Door?” He looked a little out of it. Maybe more than an appraisal? Hanzo dared to guess. “Why don’t they just waltz in?”

“Probably because the poor delivery guy doesn’t want to be the one to field a complaint from us to his boss about hair getting in the food,” Sombra fired back.

Jesse ignored the retort, honing in on the supplies in her hands. “Did you get Indian food?” he gasped, not waiting for an answer before successfully wrestling more than half the stuff away from her amidst her protests. She was shooed out by Jesse in a defeated huff, moping all the way.

Hanzo observed the struggle, more amused than concerned at the childlike display until Jesse dragged his chair up to the vanity table and started unwrapping the food right then and there.

“I kept you here long enough. Here,” he handed Hanzo a dish of colorful rice, “hope you like spicy food.”

Hanzo raised his eyebrows in clear astonishment. “I paid for neither the consultation nor the food...”

“C’mon, take at least a little,” he insisted, a kind of hope shining in his eyes. “The shop’s empty, so there’s no one here to stop us under my rule. My treat,” he flashed an inviting smile, remarkably persuasive.

“I can still fire you,” yelled a voice from… somewhere. Was that Mr. Reyes?

Jesse rolled his eyes. “Bah, these two, they love barkin’ at me.”

“We can all hear you, McCree,” Sombra yelled too, definitely still irritated.

Despite not wanting to overstep his boundaries the food was indeed enticing – especially since burning all that nervous energy worked up Hanzo’s appetite.

Though he choked out after taking a bite of the rice, “I prefer my food to have at least a bit of flavor instead of an appalling amount of spices,” going for some samosas instead.

“I’ve never had a more delicious and memorable meal than one that hasn’t burned my taste buds off,” Jesse responded with laughter.

“Then I wager you haven’t tried any Afghan or Mediterranean cuisines: Moroccan, Greek, Turkish, and the like. They are very good.”

“Mediterranean, huh,” Jesse rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “There’s a Turkish restaurant near the shooting rage I visit. Maybe I’ll visit there sometime.”

At that, Hanzo perked up. “Shooting range?”

“Yup, got a six-shooter. Her name’s Peacekeeper,” Jesse took out his phone and swiped through an alarming amount of pictures of a weathered silver gun. “Old an’ beautiful, she’s served me well.”

“I shoot as well.”

Jesse blinked, then seemed to hold in an awed look. “Ya shoot?”

“I shoot a bow,” Hanzo clarified slowly, unsure of his reaction.

“You shoot a _bow_?” Hanzo nodded. “Shit, that’s amazing!”

“I don’t shoot nearly as much as I have in the past,” he cleared up, “But every now and then I like to find a quiet place to practice.”

“You gave it a name?”

“Yes. Stormbow…”

The lights in Jesse’s eyes lit up even brighter. Now this was Hanzo’s area of expertise. He went into detail about his own technique and previous experience with guns, though he still preferred to use his bow, much to Jesse’s dismay. Nevertheless, the fresh perspective Hanzo had found in Jesse opened him up to a wealth of information, both received and taken from each other.

Their conversation was interrupted by Sombra, who marched over to Jesse and snatched his hat off. For no particular reason except for spite, until she warned, “McCree, we have customers waiting!”

Hanzo saw that she was indeed correct. A steady stream of people – likely the crowd after lunchtime –was being checked in by Reyes, who had materialized behind the reception desk without either of them noticing. As if he knew he was being stared at, Reyes turned and raised an expectant eyebrow at Jesse, imploring him to do his job.

Hanzo froze, feeling himself start to heat up in mortification. Did he distract Jesse from his job that much?

Jesse, however, didn’t seem all too concerned, choosing to shoot Sombra a scathing look. “I _am_ with a customer,” he motioned to Hanzo, “now stop hecklin’us!”

Sombra threw her arms up in frustration, turning back to attend to the waiting customers. Though she seemed to have the last word, throwing a quick phrase in Spanish that had Jesse fuming after her.

Hanzo stood, getting ready to leave. “No, she is right, I should go,” he agreed, even though he did not want to leave at all. “I don’t wish to cause you any more inconvenience.”

“What? No, no, no, you’re not an inconvenience,” Jesse stood up hastily and reached out to grip his shoulders, seating them both back down. “Inconvenience, _hell_ no.”

He stood up again, fidgeting with his hands. “Don’t mind them. It’s not like we’re gonna lose our clientele with one day of slow service. Besides, that’s their fault for not making appointments in advance. And you’re my priority customer right now,” he chuckled weakly, a timid smile tugging at his lips.

Hanzo was having difficulty keeping up with Jesse’s train of thought when the barber stopped short. “Excuse me,” he ran off abruptly. And then came back with a bunch of bottles in hand, setting them inelegantly on the vanity table. “Your coupon! You wanna redeem that?”

“I… don’t have it with me…?”

“That’s fine, I remember giving it to you,” he dismissed, and the next thing Hanzo knew he was staring up at the ceiling, chair pumped down in a reclining position.

“Okay, I’m gonna have to rush a bit,” Jesse’s voice came from above him, “but when I’m done you’re gonna have the most luxurious facial hair on this side of the US.”

Hanzo squirmed in his chair, yielding to find a comfortable position. This turn of events wasn’t ideal, but at least it gave him more time to be satisfied by Jesse’s presence for the day. And then, Hanzo realized after processing Jesse’s words, was a rare chance for him to be smooth.

He cleared his throat, and said, “Second only to yours, I see.”

It was the perfect comeback to pair with a charming smirk, as evident by Jesse’s stunned silence.

“Yes– I mean, n-no. Uh...” God, he really wanted to see his face right now.

Without warning Jesse began running a comb through his beard, and Hanzo was forced to shut his mouth for him to work. The triumphant smile refused to leave despite Hanzo’s attempts to wipe it off his face, giving the barber a hard time to work around it. Though, based on his sudden hyper-focus and delightfully sweaty palms, he did not know if that was a good or bad thing.

As Jesse worked countless numbers of sweet-smelling products into his beard, Hanzo let his thoughts wander. It was crazy to think how he had spent the past few days working himself up to an anxious sweat, when not even a few hours ago he was joking and chatting and eating food with a practical stranger, much less with someone that held his own interests.

Was this the benefits of cutting his hair that his therapist had thought fit to prescribe him, he wondered when Jesse bent over him to put on the finishing touches, giving him a nice view of his broad, plaid-covered chest.

_Mm_. He licked his lips.

“Alright, I’m done.” Hanzo stood up and stretched out his stiff muscles. “And it didn’t even cost you a penny.”

“What?” he turned. “But I’ve been here for three hours–”

“But you never even gave me the chance to get to cuttin’ any hair. Only then do we start charging,” the barber cut in. “That’s our policy. Plus, that voucher of yours provides a free service.”

He looked so pleased with himself, as if he’d outwitted Hanzo into saving him the money. “Fine, you win,” he relented, struck by his thoughtfulness.

“Wait...”

Before Hanzo could even react Jesse nimbly arranged his hair so that two simple braids fell gracefully down the front of his chest, the remaining mane of hair tumbling down his back. He looked like a king.

“Straighten your shoulders a bit,” Jesse dropped his voice, smoothing the last stranglers into place, so close that he could hear the little hitch in his breath when he spoke, “There. I think this look really suits you.”

They stood there in silence, utterly still so as to not break the spell. Until,

“MCCREE!”

The barber jumped. Laughing, Hanzo placed a heartened hand on his shoulder, feeling lighter than he had in weeks, “Go, before your sister forms a mob to retrieve you.”

Reluctantly, they finally separated and went their own ways: Jesse back to work to irate co-workers, and Hanzo back to his apartment, the latter rooted in disbelief that this day had actually occurred with barely a hint of disaster. He had successfully flirted with someone who was interested in him, possibly mutually, and he was not outright rebuffed; in fact, it felt almost effortless to be in Jesse’s presence.

Hanzo only hoped that the barber felt the same.

Coming back to his dark apartment, with only the sound of the AC perpetually turned on high was disappointing, Hanzo could feel his mood plummeting – today the chill felt unbearable to him.

He clenched his fists, finding a strength deep inside him to fight the apathy threatening to consume him. Hanzo would not be deterred. It took a while to find his bow, stashed away in the depths of a forgotten closet. He remembered with how much passion Jesse spoke, wishing he had more time to go down to the shooting range.

He left the apartment, bow in hand. No better time than to start now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 20 year old me: when I grow up I wanna be Sombra
> 
> I've never written her before god what have I been missing out on she's amazing!!!!


	3. But If You Falter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance encounter leaves Hanzo uncertain as to which path he should take.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh this chapter got a bit too real - whole lotta projecting I do on poor Hanzo ;_;
> 
> Not the chapter you were expecting to be updated on, but once again this is kinda like my vent fic, so it's relatively easier writing this than, say, the awesome plot-filled fic that is basically on hold since forever. But don't worry, I'm also working on that! Gonna take a while tho
> 
> This was supposed to be just as short as the other 2 chapters but now it's twice as long o well, more for you guys. Lots of backstory in this update but also progress! WE'RE ALMOST THERE Y'ALL

“Damn it…”

A muffled curse slipped past Hanzo’s lips as he exited the supermarket, lone bag in hand. The blast of chilled air that was pushing against his back swiftly faded away with the closing doors, replaced by a front of humidity and dark clouds.

Hanzo frowned, annoyed. The front seemed to be moving quickly over the town, stretching out far into the distance. The weather reports said there would only be a slight chance of rain – one look at the sky suggested quite the opposite, but he tried not to let it ruin his day. While it did take a lot of energy to put on decent clothes and leave his apartment for the sake of stocking up his fridge, there was something calming about getting casually lost in the endless rows of delicious-looking foods and snacks. Very enjoyable in its own right – especially when seeking to satisfy his sweet tooth.

Hanzo scoffed, peering down impatiently into his bag at the three colorfully-labeled boxes. Yes. Purely indulgent, indeed.

Sizing up the coming storm, Hanzo made the decision to start the walk back home regardless, doing his very best to ignore the tiny droplets that sprinkled his shirt every so often. Unfortunately, no sooner than he had gone down a few blocks did the rain start to come down with more frequency, beginning to dampen his skin.

Perhaps it was the drops that were rolling down his hair that made him so irritated: the clammy saturation hanging in the air combined with an unreasonable amount of heat was sticking multiple strands of stray hairs out in crooked angles. Not to mention the fact that when he woke up he couldn’t find any of his favorite baggy sweatshirts that were clean, so he didn’t have the option of pulling a hood over the frizzy mess that his head was currently turning into.

Hanzo’s mouth turned downwards in concentration, trying to smooth it down. Today had been rather productive, going outside and all. Maybe he’d finally get to the weeks-old mounds of clothing slowly but surely conquering the space surrounding his brimming hamper. No doubt all his missing sweatshirts were in the laundry…

Head bent low to (futilely) shield his face from the rain Hanzo did not realize he was on a vaguely familiar street until he was under an awning, raindrops muffled into a light pitter-patter dully smacking against the cloth above him.

And not a moment too soon. Before his eyes, the rain turned into sheets of water, a downpour signature of a summer monsoon. Hanzo was nowhere near dripping wet thankfully, but still he wished he had stayed inside the store for a while longer. Scowling faintly at the intensifying cacophony, Hanzo reluctantly slumped his shoulders, taking a moment to relax under the relative safe haven. Now he’d have to wait it out here, in this...

Hanzo threw a few glances around, attempting to recognize exactly where he was and approximating how far away he had left to walk back to his apartment when his heart skipped a beat, gaze landing at the storefront next to him.

It was Blackwatch Barbers, and leaning languidly against the windowed entrance was Jesse. One boot planted behind him, a far-away look on his face staring into the rain, smoking a cigar. Hanzo drank up the picturesque sight, transfixed, the grip on his bag slackening. This wasn’t his normal route. How did he end up…

“Hey there!”

The barber was waving, and it took Hanzo a second to realize that he was waving at _him_. His legs felt suddenly heavier as he closed the distance, tightness stiffening his stride.

“Fancy meetin’ you here.” Jesse reached to tip his hat, smiling in bright contrast to the outside scene. “You got an appointment?”

Without even waiting for an answer, Jesse laughed at his own joke and thumped Hanzo on the back. “Just kidding. Rain snuck up on ya?”

The forthcoming nature of the barber took Hanzo a moment to get used to – Jesse talked as warmly as though they were close friends. Maybe it was an American thing? “I thought I could outrun it. The meteorologist is going to pay for their error.”

Jesse took one last puff of his cigar and discarded it accordingly, pushing off the wall. “Don’t let me stop ya,” he put up his hands, looking surprisingly tickled at Hanzo’s hyperbole. That was a good sign; his type of humor was usually a hit-or-miss deal. “Don’t think it’ll let up anytime soon. Best to wait it out.”

Hanzo nodded, resigning himself to a bored lookout when he heard Jesse throw a “come on in” and the jangle of an opening door.

Hanzo, to his credit, just barely held back from pointing to himself in a “who, me?” gesture. “But… the sign says you’re closed,” he pointed out instead.

Jesse gave a dismissive wave. “We’re not really closed, today’s just… Here, I’ll explain inside.”

With that eloquent response, Hanzo’s curiosity got the better of him. He followed him inside, giving a silent sigh of relief at the lowered sensory input. The torrent outside immediately muffled, adding a cozy quality to the darkened interior. The hushed quiet soothed his senses – not a soul occupied the chairs, the lights dimmed just enough that a faint yellow hue painted the walls.

“Over here,” a voice echoed from deep within the backroom. Hanzo stepped forward, past the washing stations and down the stairs into an unfurnished basement, squinting through a bright lightbulb that was hanging by a thread from the ceiling. Lines of cardboard boxes lay strewn around the space in various stages of disarray. Numerous outlandishly-designed bottles of all sorts were bunched up in different groups littered in every corner in seemingly arbitrary batches.

Hanzo raised an eyebrow, intending to ask what tornado hit when Jesse suddenly sidled up to him. “Hey, you took my advice. Told ya the braids were a good look on you.”

Jesse’s posture was relaxed, smiling warmly, facing Hanzo chest-for-chest. He looked pleased by what he saw, running a skilled eye over the admittedly sloppy job Hanzo had given up hope on before leaving for the shop.

“I made an attempt,” he responded, running a fussy hand over the crinkled strands. “The weather didn’t help.” As a matter of fact it was nowhere _near_ as good than when Jesse had done it last week; it seemed so effortless in his expert hands, yet so frustrating in Hanzo’s.

Though Jesse didn’t seem to mind. “Ain’t you lucky that you’ve come to the right place.”

The barber stepped back and threw his arms out to illustrate his point, adding in a hefty wink. Rolling his eyes Hanzo scoffed, crossing his arms in reaction to a burst of acute self-consciousness. “Pft, who do you think you are, some kind of hair professional?”

Hanzo was glad that the barber turned his back to him when he answered back with a laugh “whatever gave you that idea, darling?” before he waved him to where he was squatting over one particular box.

“You heard of Overwatch Spas?” Jesse lifted items out of the box and started setting them on the floor beside him, in no discernable pattern.

“I have,” answered Hanzo. “You are talking about the one on the other side of town?” Since standing around twiddling his thumbs seemed insulting to the barber’s hospitality Hanzo followed suit, waving off Jesse’s token protests.

“That’s the one,” he confirmed. “You ever been inside? Now there’s a small business’ wet dream come to life. Started off a small business kickstarted by a group of friends and gosh, does it feel like you’re stepping into the future. They gave a lot of much-needed publicity to this boring old town. At its peak around twenty years ago people across the West Coast had to be put on the waitlist for weeks for a fancy-lookin’ facial. Soon they started expanding their services, and lately they’ve been encroaching upon our own niche that we’ve carved out in the community.”

“I’ll let you in on a secret,” Jesse rocked back on his heels and smirked too conspiratorially for the current situation, but Hanzo was intrigued, curious as to where this story was going. “That group of friends I was talking about? Turns out our very own Mister Gabriel Reyes himself helped establish Overwatch. But then he and his two business partners, Morrison and Amari, had some sort of… conflict of interest and he left, opening up this quaint little place.”

“That was a while ago. Morrison’s been trying to convince Boss to come back, this time with a new business proposal,” Jesse sighed, resting his arms up on the box’s edges. “It’s been ages and he still hasn’t given up hope, so today Boss took Sombra along to back him up. She‘s the one that’s got the data, business records, all that jazz. Boss doesn’t do much besides sit around and do paperwork...”

The box was about three-quarters emptied when Jesse finished his short tale. Hanzo fished out the rest of the items in silence, absorbing the anecdote and wondering how much of it was embellishment and actual truth. Then, sensing no movement from the barber, Hanzo turned fully to see that he was motionless, head pillowed on his outstretched arms atop the flimsy cardboard, eyes closed.

A small jolt ran through Hanzo’s body, watching a lock of chestnut-brown hair fall over Jesse’s nose. “So that means you are stuck here watching the shop.”

One eye opened, crow’s feet crinkling the edges. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. _You_ are stuck in here with me.” He straightened up and stretched lazily, raising his arms up above his head and yawning. “Someone’s gotta help me take inventory of the piles of shit layin’ around here.”

Hanzo regarded the man in front of him, propping up one knee. “Using me for your own gain?”

Jesse tipped his hat. “Gotta use my assets for something other than lookin’ pretty.”

Hanzo was ever grateful for the clap of thunder that rolled through the building, covering up his lack of response… and then immediately wanted to take it back when the lone lightbulb fizzled out with a pitiful whine.

A spike of adrenaline shot though his veins. More annoyed at his twitchy reflexes than because of any actual feeling of fear he remained utterly still, focusing on regulating his breathing until the initial shock wore off. By the time he felt Jesse shaking his shoulder, his muscles were locked into place.

He slowly relaxed, tuning into Jesse who was calling his name: “Hanzo, hey. You alright?”

It was pitch black, especially in the deep recesses down below where there were no windows to filter in any light. “Yes, I’m here,” he replied. “This storm is much worse than predicted.”

A sharp huff of breath. “Someone’s getting fired tonight...” Jesse’s voice was humorless, bouncing off the walls as he shuffled onto his feet. Hanzo sensed the hand sliding down to grasp at his own. “Hold on tight. Don’t wanna trip on anythin.’ Place is a minefield of hair-care products.”

Hanzo could certainly not object to that, allowing himself be pulled up and more than inclined to focus on nothing except for that strong, warm grip, wishing that Jesse would conveniently forget to let go.

In case of an emergency, of course. Even though they were not in any danger whatsoever and the electricity would come back on soon and Hanzo could go back home, most likely all within the hour.

Meanwhile, Jesse had just finished fumbling about with his lighter, eventually needing to use both his hands. A moment’s worth of searching revealed what he was looking for – ten thick, large candles of various colors, all bunched up in one corner of the room. Despite the odd mixture of tropical scents after lighting five of them, Hanzo had to admit that it made the space much more inviting.

“Always handy to have a lighter on hand. Smoking cigars is good for something, I guess,” quipped Jesse, carefully arranging the candles into a semi-circle surrounding the wall. Stepping over them he made his way towards the enclosed space and flopped down, letting out a satisfied sigh.

Hanzo joined him, albeit in a much more graceful manner, grabbing his bag in a last-minute idea. “Allow me to treat you for the hospitality you’ve shown me,” he said, pulling out one of the boxes.

Intrigued, the barber’s face lit up in recognition, “Whoa, are those Pocky sticks?” before quickly correcting himself, “Hey now, it wasn’t no problem of mine. It’s not something that needs to be repaid, don’t worry about it.”

It was a firm objection, humble in its delivery. It made Hanzo all the more determined to persuade him. He waved a stick around tantalizingly. “Then you don’t mind if I eat every single one while you watch, deprived of all the good things in life?”

Undeterred by Jesse’s tight-lipped stare, he crunched down.

“Okay you fucker, gimme the strawberry.”

It did not take long at all for Jesse to succumb but in retaliation he whipped out his phone, selecting a playlist that Hanzo had to assume was filled to the brim with country music after he flicked through snippets of each song, all of which sounded exactly the same to his untrained ears, but resigned himself to endure so that he might rebel another day.

It wasn’t too bad, really – the worst of the offenders was about the relationship between a cow, the singer, and the grief of separation during an alien abduction from Mars – but the music faded into the background as Hanzo talked animatedly when he found out Jesse had never been to an H-Mart, considering he had just come from one a few streets down from the barbershop itself.

Between sharing the treats and Hanzo having a serious debate with himself on which variety of freezer ramen to recommend the two had scarfed down all three boxes, only just realizing this fact with the very last one held between Jesse’s lips, about to bite down.

“Our last ration,” Jesse announced dramatically, candied stick bobbing up and down to the shape of his words. He shrugged, hands raised in a helpless gesture. “Before you try and convince me otherwise, _yes_ I feel absolutely entitled to the last stick. No hard feelings before the storm drowns us?”

Hanzo was too busy staring to muster up the mock offense at his words, eyes locked at the tanned skin, shining radiant in the soft candle’s glow. Jesse was smirking, likely waiting for another snappy answer, loosely crossing his arms and looking down at Hanzo with half-lidded eyes: part amusement, partly from the darkness, and… perhaps something else?

Ignoring the part of his brain that was screaming at him to not do anything impulsive, Hanzo leaned forward and inelegantly bit off almost three-fourths of the wafer, nose just an inch away from tickling Jesse’s beard.

Jesse made a surprised, high-pitched sound. The end was jabbing the inside of Hanzo’s cheek but he powered through, chewing as a faint smirk curved one side of his mouth upwards. Playing it cool, as if his own heart wasn’t beating out of his chest. “No hard feelings, Jesse.”

Wide-eyed, the barber was clearly tongue-tied as he slid even further down the wall, slouching and not-so-slyly hiding his face under his hat. Man, Hanzo really did a number on him. He didn’t think his flirtation skills were this effective, much less completely fluster a man who Hanzo thought didn’t even register as a blip on his radar.

A flurry of thoughts that were noticeably absent during the past few hours came back with a vengeance, feeding him unease and doubt about his own inadequacies. Jesse was kind, a hard worker, considerate to Hanzo’s eccentricities. They were completely different people with utterly opposite backgrounds, yet Hanzo clicked with this practical stranger more genuinely than with people in his own hometown. And it helped that Jesse was showing signs of mutual interest, as well. This was a more than agreeable outcome.

But... maybe he was just desperate. Maybe he was being nice to him because he was a customer and they needed all the clients they could get, Jesse essentially selling his personal time for future profit. The intrusive thoughts kept coming. God, he was such an easy exploit. How could he even possibly _think_ of having a chance–

“Hey, Hanzo,” a hand shook him gently. “You were real tense there for a moment.”

The concerned voice partially broke through his reverie. He blinked, readjusted unfocused vision. “I… yes, the… cold is tensing up my muscles,” he concocted a half-truth.

His words hadn’t meant to trouble Jesse further – he was not worth the trouble, after all. But instead he responded, “I can help you with that.”

Jesse continued, elaborating, “Before I started working here I worked for Overwatch Spas, for a short while. I learned a lot of the tools of the trade there, but that territory also means I had to learn how to give mani-pedis, skincare, massages, all that stuff. In short,” here he wiggled his fingers, “I am _very_ good with my hands.”

At least Hanzo had tried to inject token reluctance before he heard himself say, “If it’s not too much trouble…”

Jesse jumped into action, taking quick strides across the room in order to haul over two stools and a footrest, which were previously concealed in the darkness. Quite convenient, too, since sitting on the increasingly freezing basement floor was beginning to get tiresome. Jesse took up a position behind him.

The hairs on the back of Hanzo’s neck stood up, sending a tingling feeling down his spine. Before he could tell himself off for agreeing to a proposal that would surely be the ruin of him and his infatuation, two large hands rested on his shoulders.

They ran gently across the area of his upper back and neck, motions that spoke of years of practice, skillfully probing knotted muscle. As part of an esteemed family in Japan, Hanzo had been subject to many massages by servants or contracted workers – it may have just been him, but this seemed much more intimate, like Jesse was putting a particularly special emphasis, just for him.

Because to Hanzo’s unaccustomed body, it certainly felt like it. Even through a layer of clothing, it was evident Jesse knew what he was doing. Back slackened, Hanzo had to contain himself to hisses of breath when Jesse dug in with his thumbs, rolling his head around to revel in newly-found relief. He undid his rumpled braids, gentle fingers sweeping behind his ears, past his shoulderblades, down his back. He found himself lost in the repetitive motion.

He didn’t deserve this. Hanzo wanted more. Those hands slid down his arms.

God, he wanted more.

The words came out of his mouth too fast. “I think that is enough.”

The surprise was palpable. “Wha– but I just started–”

“I don’t…” In a moment of weakness, Hanzo caved. “I don’t think I can do this.”

Silence. There. He had said it. His trembling voice had revealed to the person he had a sincere connection with the true quality of his soul: broken and beyond hope. All those years of therapy gone down the drain in a flash of vulnerability. Whispers flooded his mind, filling the oppressive silence. He was beyond redemption. How could a man like him create a healthy relationship with a stranger when he could not even save his brother from the suffering of his own family?

Until the silence was broken. Hesitantly, but it was broken. Jesse’s voice rumbled on the edge of darkness, “Do you want me to stop?”

No! No, no, no, no, _no, no_ , he pleaded, hunched over in shame, head buried in his hands. _I don’t know_. “Yes. Please,” he choked out.

More silence, this time oppressive. Hanzo tried to regulate his breathing, did every meditation trick his therapist taught him. It wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough to stop the doubts, the humiliation, the uselessness catching up, gripping at his throat. Now that Jesse had seen this side of him…

He just wanted to get his damned haircut so he could move on. When had things become so much more _complicated_?

“You know, I used to live in New Mexico.”

Hanzo had almost forgotten Jesse was still sitting behind him. “Lived in a boring town, not much to do there. Wouldn’t recommend it.”

He kept on talking in that same low tone, a calming solid presence on Hanzo’s back. “Made a few friends who were part of the wrong crowd, and next thing I knew I was running around with the Deadlock Gang.”

“Got into a lotta shit I wasn’t proud of. Lotta shit.” The voice stopped, briefly, to gather itself. Hanzo desperately wanted to ask what had brought this on but found he couldn’t, breath strangled by a vise around his throat, captivated by the moving voice.

Jesse’s next words were lighter, “That’s how Reyes and Morrison found me. They worked a good long while in the police force down in Santa Fe before retiring and getting hitched. Good people, who wanted to help their world be a better place.”

And then, somber, “They broke up the Deadlock Gang. I was just this… this scruffy teenage kid who thought he was some hot-shot just because he could shoot a gun. It took a lotta trust but… they gave me the life I never thought I’d get.” Something metallic hummed. “A new life, a new family. New arm…”

A sigh. “Sometimes, in my weaker moments, I don’t think I deserved that second chance.”

Genji’s scarred face appeared in his mind.

Then the lights came back on.

Jesse and Hanzo simultaneously make pained noises, blinking rapidly. Hanzo stood up without meaning to, world spinning underneath his feet. His whole body felt like jelly – it was like an overwhelming spell had been lifted now that the room wasn’t cloaked in shadow: the candles had melted down to their bases, a few items lay toppled over on the floor. The room itself even looked smaller. He shook his head to clear the haze between his eyes.

“Hey, I–I’m so sorry…”

Jesse stumbled into view, accidentally kicking a box to its side. He looked more than distressed. “I dunno where I was going with telling you that story, I just thought… I was just trying to distract you, ya know?” His accent grew thicker. “You looked so distraught an’ I had to do something and…”

Hanzo, too drained for this, simply put a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

At Jesse’s stunned expression, he continued, “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me today. Your actions were very thoughtful and it… comforted me a great deal. So thank you.”

It was difficult, but his therapist encouraged him to clearly convey his emotions, and Jesse definitely earned his gratitude, especially coming from a prideful man such as himself. Still, it was surprisingly comforting to hear that Jesse was just as plagued by the same doubts as he was. It seems they were more alike than at first glance, after all.

Jesse took the compliment well enough, though looked a little at loss for words. “I’m glad to help. Um…” He seemed to consider something, then asked, “Could I ask a little favor?”

Hanzo raised his eyebrows, then nodded. “I haven’t told anyone that um, particular story in a long while and it brought up things I haven’t, ah, revisited, so to speak. It’s stupid, but, can I… get a hug?”

Jesse rapidly backpedaled before Hanzo even had a chance to say anything, bringing his hands up, “You don’t have to if you’re not comfortable! I’ll be fine–”

Hanzo would’ve never have acted so spontaneously were he in the right frame of mind but he felt like he earned it, embracing the barber and squeezing tight. He was secretly flattered when Jesse immediately sunk into it, loosely returning the gesture.

“I think we both needed that,” Hanzo muttered, huffing an amused laugh when Jesse nodded vigorously on his collarbone. Physical contact was still something Hanzo was getting used to receiving, but when it was on his own terms he was more than happy to provide.

When they emerged from the basement it had stopped raining, golden clouds painting the sky. Jesse, hands rested on his hips, turned towards Hanzo and was about to say something, when Hanzo spotted something familiar on the coat stand.

“That’s my sweatshirt.” He plucked it off the stand, confirming just to be sure. “I left it here about three weeks ago.”

“Oh, yeah, that,” the barber admitted slowly. “I took it home and washed it. I was gonna give it back to you last time you came in, but then it got busy and it slipped my mind.” He added as an off-handed remark, “By the way, that day was a fluke. Rush hour usually ain’t that hectic on Wednesdays.”

He washed it? In his own home? Hanzo resisted the urge to bury his nose in the soft fabric, instead resorting to stroking it with his thumb in a grounding gesture.

“And hey,” promised Jesse, “if you ever need someone to talk to, you know where to find me.”

Smiling faintly, Hanzo responded, “And don’t forget to take care of yourself, Jesse. You deserve to unwind, especially for a hard-working man such as yourself.”

Hanzo saw the series of thoughts develop on the barber’s face even before he finished speaking. Jesse pounced, mouth set in a lopsided grin, “Oh, I don’t mind unwindin’ at all, especially if we’re doin’ it together like today…”

He didn’t know why – it wasn’t even a good pickup line – but Hanzo felt his face heat up in a not-too-unpleasant sensation. Even after all that happened, he was still willing to flirt with him.

Before he could dwell on that any more, a loud slam came from far back in the shop. Indistinct voices drifted through, sounding nearby but not within view.

Yet. Hanzo and Jesse shared a look. “That’s my cue,” prompted Hanzo, already starting to feel like himself again after tugging on the sweatshirt. “I wouldn’t want to get you into trouble. Again.”

The sun shone down on the rain-soaked sidewalk, glistening with a polished sheen in stark contrast to the day’s earlier murky downpour. He didn’t know if Jesse was pouting at him because he brought up that incident for the second time, or because of his knowing smirk.

From behind the door though, something in Jesse’s expression changed for a split second, a calculating look in his eye flashing by so fast that if Hanzo blinked he would have missed it. And then, and then…

Quick as a snake, Jesse darted forward and brushed the lightest of kisses on Hanzo’s cheekbone – a bit off-center, right by the nose – and winked, briefly squeezing his hand in a parting gesture. “Stay strong, Hanzo,” he said, wonderful and hopeful and reassuring in just those few words. And then disappeared back into the barbershop, leaving a stunned Hanzo in the wake.

So. In the end, the barber had the last word.

He closed his eyes and reveled in the sun’s newly unveiled warmth, beaming up at the sky.

“Stay strong, Jesse.”

Not a bittersweet victory, at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end was not supposed to be that obviously optimistic, either - it was originally supposed to be more like a "what'll happen next????" but then I was like... let the people be happy yo


	4. A Helping Hand Is Closer Than You Think

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo hopes to see Jesse, one last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have just been ON FIRE updating all of my WIPs haven't I lol
> 
> This is basically my take on how Hanzo would react to his undercut, and how he goes through that process of actually attempting it so I hope that I did it some justice in this finale! I spent so much time on this, and I still think I could've done better regarding how Hanzo is articulating the multiple, confusing emotions he has gone through so far (esp. towards the end) but as usual, I puttered out xP. And of course, it wouldn't be my fic if it didn't have Sibling Bonding(TM)
> 
> Enjoy!

“…And they were so annoying, like they thought I didn’t belong there! So then I told them: would you like to experience first-hand how I earned my Naruto headband? God, brother, you should have seen his face. He must think I’m so _cool_! …Hanzo, are you even listening?”

A grunt. “Something about Lúcio…”

“I have been talking about Lúcio this whole time. _You_ have been sitting here with that dumb face for like five minutes, idiot! You were definitely not listening.”

His brother was right; he had not been listening at all. That was because all Hanzo could think about was last week, and the unexpectedly wonderful encounter with Jesse that left him reeling ever since: the absolutely magical few hours he had spent with the barber, the not-really-a-kiss burning wonderfully hot on his cheek and oh shit that was probably what his “dumb face” was suggesting.

He quickly covered it up by snorting, trying to rest his head as casually as possible on his hand. “You’re dumb.”

Yes, that would definitely show him.

Genji wasn’t too torn up though, responding with a cheeky poke of his tongue even though he was a thirty-four year old man with a respectable job and a fiancé. He stood up from the couch. “I will make us some tea,” he said, voice trailing off into the kitchen, followed by a booming, “and I’m going to put salt in yours!”

As soon as he had disappeared from the living room, whatever mock offense Hanzo had mustered up was overshadowed by a distinct fondness for his little brother, whose presence had been sporadic in his life for far too long. It was not too long ago when Genji had caught wind of Hanzo’s long over-due path to recovery, the absence of communication Hanzo’s own fault for fear of a multitude of things: his guilt, his condemnation, his punishment, all self-inflicted. And yet when they finally reunited, what Hanzo thought was going to be an embarrassing and humiliating confrontation turned into one of his strongest foundations of a supportive network – even if it just consisted of his brother, it was one of the only things that lifted his spirits in his darkest days in the past few years.

As of late, however, there was someone else that he was now looking forward to. Namely the barber who occupied his every stray thought.

Genji had learned the value of patience – for someone like Hanzo it was clear as day to see despite his youthful nature: in both his mannerisms and in the words he carefully chose, a far cry from his earlier years of adulthood.

“Ack– _fuck,_ that’s hot!”

But he still drank his tea too impulsively.

Not like it mattered, since he finished it far faster than Hanzo’s careful nurse, sipping – _trying_ to sip under Genji’s excitable focus: just as a little brother normally was.

But they were no normal siblings. Not yet, at least. Soon, they would be.

Time heals all wounds, Hanzo recalled the saying, hoping it would apply to the scars Genji carried on his skin.

Hanzo almost spilled his tea when he found himself full with Genji in his lap, who leaned half of his upper body on the arm of the couch behind him. He made himself comfortable with his phone in hand and a blanket over his knees.

He shined him a bright smile. “So what are we doing tonight?”

Hanzo remained unimpressed. “Nothing,” he said, just to rile him up.

“Aww!”

“It’s seven PM and you just got here. Are you not tired?”

“No, not really.”

“Well, I am definitely not going outside my apartment, as I know you are in the habit of dragging me.”

“That’s okay,” Genji acquiesced surprisingly quick. “I wanna know more about how you liked the barbershop I told about anyway.”

Oh no. “So,” he began, turning awkwardly in Hanzo’s lap to comb his long hair with his fingers, “looked like you had fun. That picture you sent me is my background photo, by the way.”

The rascal. He knew just how much Hanzo liked his hair preened over. Plus, he knew Genji thought he was rewarding Hanzo; after so much reluctance on his part, actually going to the barber’s was a feat worthy of celebration with a brother’s night-in.

How should he start without drawing any attention to his… predicament with Jesse? “Ah…”

Hesitation? On his part? There was his first strike.

Hanzo cleared his throat, glancing to see if Genji had caught on. “The characters are an… interesting bunch. And the décor leaves something to be desired,” he began tactfully.

“How was your experience there? They lived up to your lofty expectations, I take it?” Genji raised an eyebrow, watchful.

“It wasn’t too terrible. And I do not have ‘lofty expectations,’” he said petulantly.

“So you are saying they did a good job?”

“Hmph. Of course,” he said far too haughtily. Uh-oh. Strike two. “How could they mess up a simple trim–”

“Your beard feels soft.” A hand patted at his face, then with more interest, “Ooh, very soft. Feels nice. You must be starting to take good care of it.”

Hanzo’s cheeks went aflame at the flashback of Jesse’s hands stroking down his face, fingers gently working their way into his beard. He shifted uncomfortably – or at least as much as he could with Genji weighing him down. “I have been, yes.”

Genji didn’t have to know that he had ordered some of the products advertised on their website just so he could smell that sweet aroma and feel refreshed once in a while. Besides, it was doing quite well at improving his day-to-day mood.

Genji suddenly shot up from his lap with an exaggerated gasp. “I just remembered, now that I’m in town I can get my hair redone. Let’s go tomorrow, brother!”

Hanzo eyed his brother’s mop of faded green hair, suspicious. “You don’t mean to tell me that this,” he reached out to rub his knuckles over the mess, “ _monstrosity_ is one of your ‘signature trends’?”

“Hey, I’m super cool!” Genji batted his hand away, trying to look exasperated but unable to hide his smile. “I’m the height of fashion at my workplace. I have an image to maintain, you know. ‘Cause I’m a total badass.”

“Is that what Lúcio says, hm?”

Hanzo chuckled openly at Genji’s pout, playfully pinching his brother’s nose.

“Fine. You can go tomorrow.”

“Just me? What about you?”

Hanzo froze. “C’moooon, brother,” he pleaded. “Let’s do something together tomorrow. It’ll be fun! I only have one more day off before I have to go back down south anyways.”

From time to time, Genji would often take off from his work to check in with Hanzo. The charity organization he had a partnership with usually left him traveling across the world, so his visits would last for infrequent days at a time before he would be needed back. It was demanding but rewarding work, and it suited Genji very well: in some way it served to redeem himself from the less savory practices of their family’s “business,” to use a loose term. That was also how he met Lúcio.

And truthfully, Hanzo desperately wanted to see Jesse again, but at the same time he would not know how to react. They were at a strange crossroads, and Hanzo had been the happiest he had ever been in a while, both thrilling and dreading in the nervous anticipation. But he simply had to find out what would become of this… thing that they had – at the very least so that he could set his conscience at ease.

And then maybe he would switch barbers and never have to show his face again at Blackwatch if things didn’t work out.

But right now, Hanzo could never deny Genji his happiness, although he could still not quite understand why he found such happiness within his failure of a brother. Hanzo sighed, defeated. In the end, the urge was too great to ignore. “I guess I have _some_ free time...”

They both knew Hanzo had far too much “free time” on his hands these days, but Genji whooped nonetheless, as if he had secured a hard-earned victory.

“Yes! I get to meet Sombra again! Ah, she was real fun. Did you meet Sombra, brother? She does wonders with hair dye. And her style! That woman is two steps ahead of the fashion industry. Did you think that…”

Genji did not stop his chattering even as he dashed across his apartment looking for a hairbrush, a bundle of excited energy not even grating on Hanzo’s good mood. It would be okay, Hanzo kept repeating to himself, closing his eyes as the brush moved down his hair, undoing pesky tangles that he hated reaching around for. It would be okay: all he would do was wait for Genji to get his hair done, he would stay hidden in the back, and maybe catch a peek at Jesse before leaving, quiet as a mouse. That was fine. He was fine with that.

He frowned.

But… it wasn’t fine. It wasn’t fine at all. He wanted more. He wanted to do something different. To _become_ different. He wanted his haircut. He wanted to move on.

“Hey, Hanzo?”

“Hm,” he responded, lost in thought.

A phone was, quite literally, shoved into his face; the glow shone annoyingly through his closed eyelids. “What hairstyle do you think would look the awesomest on me?”

Hanzo raised a doubtful eyebrow, but made no comment. He scrolled through the pictures, only half-focused. Perhaps, he reasoned, there was no need to rush: he had lived with his depression for a very long time, and it would not be advisable to push for a drastic change so hastily when it would only set him back in the long-run. That was what his therapist had said, so surely…

He stopped scrolling. One particular hairstyle caught his attention.

“That one, brother?” Genji leaned forward to take a peek. “Hm, that wouldn’t suit _my_ features. But…”

If Hanzo were paying any attention, he would hear the knowing smile in Genji’s voice.

“I think it would look very cool on you. Like a total bad boy, eh? I think I can spare one of my leather jackets…”

He licked his lips. A need bubbled wildly up in his chest. “This one is… good.” He stared for a long while, mind racing with possibilities.

“Y…yes. Yes! I like that, too!” He could definitely tell that Genji was just barely holding it together. “I like it a lot!”

Mercifully, he shut up before Hanzo could be embarrassed any further. But not before he received a very enthusiastic side hug. Until, of course, Genji ruined it:

“Ew, you’re smelly. Go take a shower.”

“ _You’re_ smelly.”

Genji laughed outrageously, tears in his eyes. “That wasn’t funny at all,” Hanzo crossed his arms, cheeks hurting from smiling so much.

“Just– ha ha, the way you– the way you say it, pffft–!”

Hanzo had a feeling there was something else entirely that was making Genji so happily jumpy but he played along, skirting away from the significance of the decision he made. It had been years since they had interacted as brothers, and now they were talking about nonsense as if they had never been estranged in the first place. They had jumped back into familiarity fairly quickly, Hanzo could feel – but it was also so inexplicably different, too.

It would take time. But they would get there, eventually.

Hanzo pushed a lock of smooth hair behind his ear, clearing off the empty cups from the table. “Tomorrow, then.” He smirked wickedly, muttering under his breath, “Smelly…”

Fresh laughter burst all the way across into the kitchen where he was putting away the dishes in the sink, followed by a hollow thump on the ground.

Hanzo stood over Genji, who was lying in a heap at the foot of the sofa. “How long are you going to stay up?”

“Oof,” a breathless voice tapered off into wheezing giggles. When he finally gathered himself he said, “The current project that I’m working on is in Guyana which is a few hours ahead, so not too long. I just have to send some emails and make a few phone calls.”

Genji threw out a hand to fish for his phone, which was still on the sofa. Apparently, he was very comfortable on Hanzo’s carpet. “How often do you bring your work home?” he asked in a concerning tone.

“I try not to.” Genji found his phone and propped a leg up on the sofa. “I used to, but then when Lúcio found out I got an ass-whooping.” He snorted. “As if he follows his own advice. Hypocrite.”

Genji briefly looked up from his typing. “I’m away for the whole weekend this time, so I turned up the charm and pulled a lot of strings to let me get some work done. It was the least I could do, especially since we’re in the middle of installing crucial facilities there. It would be stupid to be delayed just because I am behind on my part, you know?”

Pride welled in Hanzo’s chest. Ten years ago he never would have thought that Genji would willingly put the skills the family drilled into him to proper use – and now he was using those same skills for a good cause. His brother had done so well in his absence.

But he couldn’t express that pride without getting extremely emotional in five seconds flat, and he did not want to deal with that right now. So all he said was, “the only thing you are pulling is my leg. Charm, hah…”

The threat of assault that Genji gave – “go take a shower before I throw you in there” – would be more intimidating if he tried a little bit harder than just feebly slapping at his ankles, but Hanzo obliged him anyway, retreating to the bathroom.

Stepping into the shower, Hanzo realized that what he was feeling was not fear but something else entirely. The strength he had been slowly building up for the past few months had resolved into courage; he truly felt as if he could finally face down what he was about to do tomorrow, and that he would walk out the next day as a changed man. One small step at a time, but one step closer to recovery regardless.

Yes, he smiled. Tomorrow would be a big day.

______

“…Okay, we have sixteen sets of the Numbani shampoo and conditioner packages left. That means we need to up our profit margin so we can get in at least twenty more orders of those in by next month…”

“Mhm-hm.”

“Then there’s two giant tubs of Talon hair gel in storage, and for some reason, one of them,” Gabriel’s eyes never left the clipboard as he kicked at said tub, “is half-empty even though I told everyone we shouldn’t use it after last time…”

“Mh-hm...”

“Jesse. Broseph,” Gabriel waved his hand in front of Jesse’s glassed-over gaze. “Snap out of it and get that brain moving, dude.”

That drew Jesse out from his stupor very quickly. “Lord, Reyes, don’ go sayin’ stuff like that,” he grimaced. “Yer like, a thousand years old.”

“I’m a Cali boy, I can say whatever I want. Cowabunga.”

Nothing except for his eyes that twinkled with amusement gave away how much he was thoroughly enjoying the way Jesse was cringing.

“Uff, Gabriel, leave our poor man alone.” His saving grace came in the form of Ana, who was climbing down from the ladder after putting the finishing touches on a light fixture she installed in the basement of the barbershop. She dusted her hands off, ever graceful.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Jesse began, only for Ana to say soon after:

“Yes, you must be thinking very hard about certain things. If it is such a pressing matter, then it would be best for you to tell us what is on your mind so that we can offer some sagely advice, would it not?”

His grimace only grew even more prominent when Ana and Gabriel shared a laugh at his expense. A spike of annoyance clenched at his stomach, quick and aggravating. Today Jesse indulged in the feeling, unable to muster up the restraint to quash his knee-jerk reaction. “‘S nothin’. Y’all don’t need me down here. Can I go back to doing my actual job now?” he said sharply, drawing his hat down over his eyes, noting with increasing distaste at how much inventory they still had to go over.

“Yeah, sure,” Gabriel waved him off, apparently unfazed by his attitude. “Go see if your dad needs any help.”

Jesse was more than happy with that. “Commander, Captain,” he grumbled as he took his leave.

He felt twin looks of confusion boring into his back. “Now I really feel old…” Gabriel grumbled to Ana.

Ignoring their comments he climbed up the basement stairs, stepping into the main area. Today was Saturday, which meant that there was a good amount of people being serviced, but not enough that there was a backlog of customers in the waiting area.

He spotted Jack a few booths down off at work on his own client who, without prompting, nodded towards an occupied booth next to Fareeha. Taking up his station, Jesse settled into a rhythm. “If Reyes or Ana comes up and asks for me, tell ‘em I’m busy. Forever.”

Jack cast an inquiring glance his way, clearly wanting in on the drama. “Goddamn old-timers stickin’ their noses in places where it don’t belong,” he went on. “Can’t a man have his privacy?”

Jack said in his mild way, “Only gonna get worse with every passing year. Those old soldiers have to have their gossip to stay sane.” His hands never strayed from their task. “Want me to tell them to lay off of you?”

Even before he offered Jesse found himself shaking his head. “Naw, it’s fine. I’m just being dumb and blowin’ it out of proportion. Thanks for listening, though.”

In truth, it wasn’t so much what they had said; rather, it was more about how on edge Jesse had been in the first place. Hanzo had been on his mind for the past week, and he had nothing but time on his hands to overthink: whether he had come on too hard, or overstepped his boundaries, or just did something plain insensitive.

Or, Jesse feared the most, he had read the situation entirely wrong when he gathered up the courage to kiss him on the cheek, scaring him away for good.

He winced when he jabbed his finger with the scissors. Of course, it was all so obvious now; Hanzo would never want to come back after _that_ disaster. He wouldn’t put it past him if that made him feel completely uncomfortable. But then again, Jesse had sensed some real attraction beginning to foster between them during that fateful afternoon in the storm – or maybe that was just him being presumptuous…

“Penny for your thoughts? You look like you’re working yourself up over there.”

Jack could lend an excellent ear to anyone’s problems – hell, they all could, he trusted each and every one of them – but Jesse was getting sick of visiting that memory over and over again.

He waved him off, content to wallow. Even without his own personal problems, it was a stressful time for everyone in the barbershop. It wasn’t often that Jack himself came down to Blackwatch from Overwatch Spas, and what Jesse could overhear in Reyes’ little office consisted of hushed exchanges and conversations that stretched long into the workday. As of late, they’d been spending the weeks holed up in there, only for the atmosphere to be charged with tension when Jack would inevitably take his leave. Today must’ve been a good day if Jack was out in front…

“Oh no,” he heard Fareeha grumble low in her throat. “He’s back…”

Jesse threw her a confused look. “Beg pardon?”

In response, she jerked her chin towards the reception area just as a few people filed into the barbershop. The first thing that caught his eyes was the shock of familiar but faded green hair; it headed the mass of people just by pure presence alone.

“Lord help us,” he echoed the sentiment. Genji was back. He was back, and Jesse did _not_ want to deal with him – especially today of all days, when he was in an extra-special brand of horrible mood.

Fareeha gave him her trademarked look. Clearly, she wanted no part of this and was going to be of no help. Honestly, he couldn’t blame her: not since that time she had gotten… inadvertently _caught up_ in Genji’s shenanigans, to put it lightly. She bolted for the back, likely looking for Sombra.

Jesse heaved a breath, walking up to the reception desk. Looks like the burden fell on him. “Get out.”

Well, he definitely wasn’t going to give the customer-friendly version of Jesse.

“Jesse!” Genji was just as energetic as ever as always, seemingly impervious to his glare. “My favorite cowboy! It has been so long, my friend. You are looking well. How are things?”

“First of all, flattery will get you nowhere.” That was partially a lie; he _lived_ for the times whenever someone ever so much glanced his way and the first thing that popped into their head was ‘cowboy.’ It was, after all, part of the reason why he dressed up like this. “Second, I’m pretty sure you only know one cowboy and that’s me, so you better believe I’m your favorite. Third, you came here like, a few months ago so it wasn’t that long ago. And fourth, things were fine until you showed up.”

Now that was a bold-faced lie, but he wasn’t about to spill the beans about Hanzo to him anytime soon. “Ah, Jesse, you wound me. Tell me, what have I ever done to deserve your harsh words?”

Jesse huffed, disbelief written plain across his face. “Yer a class act, Genji. You know exactly what you did.” And if he were Jesse’s type, he might almost be able to get away with some of the stuff he was saying right now.

But it seemed that Genji would not be denied. He winked without a conscience. “But it was fun, wasn’t it?”

Jesse leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “You stole a tub of Talon hair gel,” he whispered harshly, mindful that someone might overhear.

“Technically half a tub,” Genji corrected.

“In which Fareeha and I covered your tracks for some god forsaken reason.”

“Thanks for that, by the way,” he nodded.

“And then you created a fire hazard.”

“Not _that_ much of a hazard.”

“You still owe us seventy bucks for the hair gel, by the way.”

Genji gave him a sharp little smirk. He repeated once more, “But it was fun, wasn’t it?”

It was a valiant effort to keep up his unimpressed stare, but Jesse finally caved. “Ok, it was a little fun.”

Genji beamed like the proud fucker he was.

“But I also got in big trouble with Reyes so fuck you for that, too.”

“Oh shit, Reyes! I forgot about that dude!” He quickly ducked behind the desk, even though it was a useless endeavor. “Is he here?”

He tried to hold it in, but Jesse snickered at how high-strung this man was. As much as he was adamant on maintaining his bad mood, perhaps it was a small blessing that Genji was here to distract him from his problems. After all, he did make him laugh at the stupidest things.

The door chime jingled just then, bringing him back to the present and to work. Right, he’d catch up later. He straightened his shoulders, intending to shove Genji off his desk and service some normal customers when:

“They didn’t have mango, so I got you strawberry and peach instead.”

A voice he never thought he’d hear again graced his ears. He looked up.

Hanzo’s eyes met his.

“Uhhh…”

For all of his constant thinking, Jesse did not prepare for the possibility that Hanzo would _actually_ come back to the barbershop.

“Hello, Jesse,” he gave a slight nod of acknowledgement.

“Uh, h… hi, Hanzo.” The world condensed into a singular focus. Hanzo looked… different. His expression was inscrutable, but just the way he carried himself he seemed more sure, more confident; he filled the reception area with his presence.

Or, maybe that was just what Jesse was seeing, because he had seen the man just a week ago and yet here he was, hoping against hope that the person he had fallen hard for had come back to give him a second chance. And despite everything Hanzo was here in front of him, calming the anxiety buzzing in his head, gracing him with the tiniest of smiles. It sent butterflies straight down Jesse’s stomach.

“So you two have met?”

Genji already managed to finish almost half the ice cream in the large-sized container. His voice cut through Jesse’s thoughts unpleasantly, and he leveled an annoyed frown back to him. Damn it, why did Genji have to be _here_ of all days?

He cleared his throat. “Hanzo, this is Genji, the physical embodiment of Murphy’s Law. I suggest you take at least five steps away from him or risk gettin’ roped in into one of his crazy schemes.”

Hanzo stepped closer, studying Genji curiously. Well, that was putting it lightly; his eyebrows had skyrocketed behind his mass of hair and stayed there in what seemed to be a mix of amusement and open surprise.

“He’s our first and only contender for the Blackwatch Hall of Infamy. Unofficial, of course.”

“Can you make it official? I don’t want any competition, ever.”

This was just plain old bad luck, Jesse thought in the privacy of his mind. As much as he had a love-hate relationship with Genji, he really wished he wasn’t here right now so that he could have some time alone with Hanzo: who, for some strange reason, was extremely invested in flitting his attention back and forth between him and Genji and looking fit to burst into rounds of choking laughter at any second. At least things wouldn’t be awkward between them, Jesse reasoned, unable to stop from smiling at how happy Hanzo looked.

“C’mon, brother, I’m going to go look for Sombra. She’s probably in the back somewhere…”

Genji had taken a good few steps into the main area with Hanzo in reluctant tow before what he said really registered in Jesse’s brain.

“What the fucking fuck–”

He almost tripped over the coat stand in his rush to catch up with the pair, clutching onto both their shoulders and turning them around. “Y’all sayin’ y’all _kin?_ ”

They raised an eyebrow in perfect unison.

“You guys are _brothers_?” Jesse reiterated, absolutely floored.

The three of them blocked traffic across the floorspace of the barbershop as Jesse floundered in an attempt to reconcile this new fact, which was soon followed by the mortification of the rule of assumptions: a perfect example of “making an ass out of you and me” by not catching onto the fact that perchance, maybe, there was a likelihood that yes, they did _indeed_ know each other and mother of god how did he not notice it before?

“Jesse, dear, there is no time to waste. Get moving!”

Luckily (or perhaps not, because nothing could save Jesse from that particular fuckup) Ana’s commanding voice had him almost standing at attention, and he half-heartedly shoved Hanzo towards her beckoning form and off to the back.

“Go with her,” he said, “she’ll get you all fixed up an’ whatever.” He turned in place, not quite sure what else to do. “Where the ever-lovin’ fuck is Sombra when ya need her…”

A strong grip on his arm reminded him that no, Genji would not get bored and disappear if he ignored him hard enough, and yes, that shit-eating grin was directed towards his utterly abysmal people’s skills.

“You thought– bahahah–”

Genji couldn’t stop choking on his laughter: a trait he shared with his brother. “I can’t believe you didn’t realize we were related!”

Jesse crossed his arms and huffed, trying very hard to regain control of the situation. “Yeah, well, shame on me for not stereotyping,” he grumbled.

“The eyebrows are a Shimada family trait,” he insisted. “It’s so obvious!”

Genji shoved his face into Jesse’s personal space. Two bushy heaps of hair on his forehead wiggled madly, as if to say “look at me.” Jesse looked. They _were_ mighty fine eyebrows, he grudgingly admitted.

“Yeah, well,” Jesse leaned back, “so are your pouty faces, apparently.”

Right as Genji was interpreting that particular implication it was then that Jesse sagged in relief, catching a glimpse of Sombra striding up towards the pair, a wicked grin on her face. Finally, some good news. “Welp, good talk, hope we never meet again,” he tipped his hat, which at this point was just reflex. “Sombra, he’s all yours.”

And with that, the barber neatly spun Genji a perfect one-eighty, releasing the greatest sigh of relief when Sombra’s face lit up and hooked an arm around him, chattering all the way into the hair-dye stations tucked into a far corner of the barbershop.

Leaning heavily on an empty chair Jesse let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in, and replayed the past ten minutes.

The first and only thing that mattered: Hanzo was here. He’d brought his demon of a brother, but he was here.

A hope he’d long given up on began to bubble in his chest, and he pressed his forehead into the cool leather of the chair, trying to calm his racing thoughts. What should he do? How should he act? Should he bring up last week or forget it ever happened? Fear and longing warred in his heart.

That conflict, too, was what was warring in Hanzo as well. All his bravado upon entering the reception area had vanished when Jesse left him to his own devices. Separated from Genji, who was adept as sensing when he needed a distraction from his own misgivings, he now had to face the music alone. And quite frankly, it was terrifying.

“Sorry,” said the man who was currently washing his hair, noticing his flinch when he got his fingers caught on a tangle.

Hanzo did not let that fear show, steeling himself by taking in a steadying breath. The woman he’d been thrust towards by Jesse had known exactly what to do, falling into a well-practiced routine: without so much as a word his hair was being washed by a man he had not seen before in the barbershop, broad scars and neutral expression prominent on his face.

The woman stood by, arms fixed at her hips, talking in a language he couldn’t place. As much as he wanted to, Hanzo figured it was best not to interrupt to ask questions – the man’s brow was knitted in concentration as her words were carefully enunciated, and he responded in that same language: slow and with a noticeable accent, but level and sure. Still, Hanzo could sense a certain tension in the air.

“Good,” the woman suddenly switched to English, giving him an impressed smile. “You’re improving every day, Jack.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Ana, we both know I’ll never be able to get my _ain_ ’s right.”

Ana chuckled, a gentle mixture of kind and amused. “Don’t worry about that, Jack, usually no one can even at your advanced stage. Arabic is a tricky language for English-speakers.”

She patted a hand on his shoulder, light and lingering, before turning to disappear into the back, near Mr. Reyes’ office, Hanzo presumed. Then, she paused, turning a last look to Jack. Her demeanor abruptly shifted: one that was solemn, sober. “Remember what I said about pushing Gabriel too hard, Jack. You’re not fighting a war anymore, you know.”

Jack stood, a resigned sigh passing his lips. “I know, Ana.” There was a faraway look in his eyes as he wrapped Hanzo’s hair into a towel, actions neat and practiced.

Ana took her leave, ending that conversation. “You’re all set,” Jack said, leading him back into the main area and into an empty chair. “Someone’ll be with you soon.”

The low buzz of chatter was Hanzo’s only company when Jack left. He sat in the chair. Jiggled one leg then the other, laced his fingers together, resisted the urge to itch his wet hair under the towel. Anything to keep himself busy and refuse to entertain any thoughts of regret: for the haircut that would eventually change his life, or for seeing Jesse once more for the last and final time. He really hadn’t meant to get so involved, but it was like a switch had been flipped, and all his previous well-planned intentions were thrown out the window when he saw Jesse in the flesh.

He stared down dark brown eyes reflected in the mirror. It was all or nothing now.

“Hey there.”

Hanzo whipped his head to the left. There Jesse stood, pursing his lips and wringing his hands. Even though he loomed over him the barber looked so small, uncertain and anxious, a far cry from his easy-going attitude from before. “It’s good ta see you again. I’m happy you’re here.”

Jesse sounded hesitant, but Hanzo could tell his words were sincere. They rumbled pleasantly in his ear, like this conversation was meant for them and only them. “Me too,” Hanzo smiled, genuine and warm.

And it was true, was it not? Despite it all, the one thing Hanzo knew was that he was glad to be here. More than glad, actually. Ecstatic, in some ways. Terrified, too, but… optimistic. Hopeful.

As soon as he said that Jesse visibly relaxed. “I’m glad,” he said, bringing a hand around to grip at the chair. His thumb rubbed into the leather. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

The constant noise of the barbershop melted away into insignificance as they let the moments tick by. They grew comfortable in their silence. The barber leaned in closer.

“Well?” Hanzo asked.

“Hm?” Jesse responded, slow in his stupor.

Hanzo tilted him a teasing smirk. “Are you going to stand there admiring me all day, or are you going to cut my hair?”

“Mh-hm. Uh…? Oh, _oh_. Sorry, y-yeah! Gimme a sec…”

Jesse panicked for a bit, then ran around the booth gathering his supplies. He threw a barber cape around Hanzo’s mischievous visage then undid the towel, letting the wet hair thump far down the back.

He ran it through with a wide comb. Hanzo forced himself to take a deep breath, committing the feeling to memory: the powerful tug of too-long hair pulling his head backwards, weighing his head down, errant strands sticking to his face. He would miss it, yes, but he would also not miss it. It was hard to describe just what he was feeling, whether it was good or bad – nostalgia, he supposed, had a lot to do with it; he had, after all, lived with long hair for so long that it was hard to remember a time where it didn’t factor into his daily life.

“So, uh, about Genji…”

Hanzo opened his eyes to regard the barber sheepishly looking back in the mirror.

“I swear, I had no idea you two were related,” he began, gesturing with the giant comb. “‘Cause honestly, you shoulda _seen_ what he did to the basement. I mean, it was shit from the beginning but what _he_ did, phew, it really needed a make-over after that…” Realizing what he had implied, Jesse backtracked, “Now, hold up, I don’t mean to go bad-mouthing yer brother, ‘cause really, he’s a fun guy an’ all. Well, when he’s _not_ a walkin’ disaster tryin’ to… damn it all to hell, I’m messin’ this up so bad…”

Hanzo raised a hand, saving him from speaking any more. “I understand what you mean.” The look on Jesse’s face looked like he wasn’t too convinced so he continued, “It’s completely expected that we are not alike at first glance but I assure you he means no harm. He is just…” He searched for the right word. “Hyperactive.”

Jesse snorted. “That’s puttin’ it lightly.”

“Nevertheless, I am ready to take full responsibility for whatever he did,” he stated.

“Naw, I already talked to him,” assured Jesse. “He’ll pay for it.”

Hanzo nodded, satisfied. Then he furrowed his brow. “Wait, what do you mean he’ll pay–”

Jesse turned on the hair dryer.

“WHAT? I CAN’T HEAR YOU!”

“Jesse!” he raised his voice. “What did my brother do–!”

“WHAT?”

Hanzo opened his mouth once more, then decided to let it drop. He’d talk to Genji later. He sagged back into the seat, pursing his lips into a pout. Jesse continued with the blow-dry, even though that is supposed to be, to Hanzo’s knowledge, the last step of the process. But he couldn’t bring himself to point it out because one, he hated wet hair and two, Jesse’s hands felt too good on his scalp.

Hanzo stuffed a hand down his back pocket, feeling his phone burn in his grip. He really couldn’t delay this anymore. He had to show Jesse why he was here today.

All too soon, the hair dryer turned off.

“This.”

Before he could lose his resolve, the phone was opened and the hairstyle he and Genji had picked out last night was on the screen. It was a mohawk-styled undercut, with a good chunk of hair tied back into a messy top knot. It wasn’t anything remarkable – the style itself was slightly outdated, for a demographic that was a bit too young for Hanzo to adequately suit him.

But that was the point, wasn’t it? So that when he would look in the mirror, the man who would stare back would be completely unrecognizable from his old self.

“This one,” he declared, suddenly very out of breath. He inhaled through his nose, hard and forceful. “I want this one.”

He knew how childish he sounded, but that was overshadowed by the spike of fear lancing through his chest, freezing up his muscles and tightening his throat. His fingers were stiff, clamped around the phone but Jesse examined the picture, studying it with a professional attention. He looked to Hanzo, then back at the phone. Then once more, then back.

Finally, he spoke. “Got an eye for style there, bud. Normally when people come to me with all these radical hairstyles I usually advise them not to, but this?” He nodded to the phone, “I’m thinkin’ it’ll suit you perfectly.” The barber smiled. And with it Hanzo could breathe a little easier.

Then, “Gonna have to cut away at a lotta hair, though.”

For most of his life, Hanzo had constructed certain walls around himself as a way to contain the strange, frightening feelings that seemed to have free reign over his rationality. Healthy or not, it was his coping mechanism that had worked for some time. Years later, his therapy had given him the tools to correctly subdue and deal with those chaotic things that had once ruled his mind and body.

But right now, with those simple words Jesse had uttered, something somewhere deep inside him collapsed.

He sank, deep within himself, vision blackening for a few seconds, but it was those distressing few seconds which stretched into an eternity. His arms, his legs, his whole body – he couldn’t feel them, couldn’t feel anything at all. Only the constricting of his heart and the savage, brutal pull of his hair which was hurting his scalp, hurting, pain, pain, _pain_ –

“Just gotta tie your hair up so it don’t make a mess… and all set.”

Hanzo blinked, returning to reality. Feeling rushed back into his fingertips, then arms, then legs. And then he realized he was gripping the armrests enough to put permanent dents into the worn leather. He eased his fingers off, limbs slow to respond. He breathed out.

“You want me to take pictures or… Hanzo? Hey, you alright?”

Before he even uttered the words, Jesse could already tell that something was very wrong with Hanzo. The activity of the barbershop fell onto deaf ears as Jesse tuned into the man hunched over in his chair, breaths short, quick, panicked. Sudden, intense worry tightened his gut as Jesse drew closer to Hanzo, who flinched.

Yes, there was something very wrong. “Aw, shit, what’s happened, hon?” It was the last thing he wanted to do but Jesse backed off. He lowered his voice, “Do you need me to go get Genji–”

“No!” Hanzo exclaimed, limbs suddenly unsticking from their paralysis. He shot an arm out, grasping the barber’s wrist. “He can’t see me like this.”

A flash of fear flickered in his eyes. Jesse was pinned underneath that intense gaze. “I have to do this myself. I _need_ to.”

Unshed tears formed, twinkled in Hanzo’s eyes. His hair was sectioned off, tied at odd intervals down his back for ease of cutting. All in all, it was an unflattering image.

Jesse had never seen a more beautiful man in his entire life.

Without thinking he found Hanzo’s hands, squeezed all his strength and support and love into it. “Like hell you’re doin’ this alone. We’ll get through this together, alright? Ya hear me?”

An eternity later Hanzo nodded, unable to speak.

 _Good enough of an answer_ , Jesse conceded, contemplating his next move as he hurriedly glanced around. The back room was empty, and so were the washing stations.

Jesse jumped into action. “Follow my lead,” he whispered, rewrapping the towel around Hanzo’s head and standing him up, an idea forming in his head. He positioned himself close to Hanzo, strategically cutting off line of sight from the rest of the barbershop patrons.

When Ana started appearing on their Instagram, Blackwatch Barbers was flooded with an influx of hijabis knocking on their door asking after her. Naturally, they were disappointed she worked with Jack over at Overwatch Spas, but after witnessing the demand for a religiously-sensitive salon in the neighborhood, Reyes converted the back section into a space exclusive to anyone with particular needs, whether they were hijabi or required any sort of extra accommodations. It was the right investment to make; since then, their clientele has diversified.

And right now, Jesse was all the more grateful as he led Hanzo into the room as casually as possible and closed the opaque sliding doors shut, turning the handle to ‘occupied.’

“Alright, we’re all alone in here. No one’s gonna sneak up on us so it’s just you an’ me,” Jesse said, turning around. “You okay with that?”

A spike of worry pierced Jesse when he saw how small Hanzo looked: a tremble visible in his clenched fists, his face cast downwards. He nodded once again.

Jesse directed him to a lone cubicle booth furnished with broad walls, seating him down. It was quiet, but no less tense – in fact, Jesse was more tense than he had been for anything in his life. All signs pointed to the evidence that this visit was so very important for Hanzo. And if Jesse fucked up, _he_ wouldn’t be the one paying for it: Hanzo would.

Jesse removed the towel, slow and steady despite his nervous energy, searching for any signs of reaction. “I ain’t gonna start on anythin’ until you give me the all-clear. I’ll be sittin’ tight, right here,” he pulled up a chair, “so don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

He contemplated whether he should undo all the hairties, then decided against it. “There’s no rush. We got all the time in the world.”

It was hard to do so, but Jesse put on a show of relaxing. Stretching his legs out, he gave a great big yawn and lolled his head back. He caught the hint of a smile on Hanzo’s face.

Time passed. There wasn’t a clock in the room so Jesse didn’t know how long they sat there. Hanzo never peered at the mirror for too long – only for brief glances before quickly flitting away to wring at his hands or pick at the folds of his clothing. Jesse observed him underneath his hat, wondering precisely whether this man knew how much he cared for him.

“I’m sorry.”

A voice, hoarse and low, interrupted his thoughts. Hanzo met his eyes, but it was clear it was a difficult thing.

Jesse’s eyes stung, something stirring his gut. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do,” he started, standing up on unsteady legs, “and I dunno your exact situation, but we’re always dealin’ with shit in our lives – no matter how many years ago that trauma was. So don’t go apologizin’ for that.” He tipped his hat, smiling weakly.

Relief crossed Hanzo’s face, however fleeting it was. “Thank you. I think…” He licked his lips. “I think I am ready.”

Was Hanzo truly ready? No, he admitted, but he came to peace with the realization that he would never be ready, and that it would be futile to wait for that perfect moment. He should do it now, or he would lose his nerve or risk wasting another handful of years, lost, aimless in his depression.

No – he _had_ to do it now, no matter his doubts.

That was what he told himself as Jesse familiarized his fingers with his hair. A tuneless hum echoed in the silence.

“Do you want me to just go at it whenever, or let you know when I’m ready?” the barber asked.

“Let me know,” Hanzo said, surprising himself.

A thrill shot down Hanzo’s spine. No, he wanted to know. He wanted to know when, _exactly_ when, he would conquer this challenge. He wanted to record this moment in his memory. He wanted to know when he would change, become a different man. A _better_ man.

“I’m doing it,” Jesse said, and then:

_Snip._

It was happening.

_Snip._

Hanzo gasped, frozen. It was really happening.

_Sniiiiiiip._

His head got tugged back.

“Sorry. Damn scissors got caught…”

A final _snip_.

Gone. It was gone. It was completely, entirely gone.

 _Gone_ , Hanzo echoed silently, lips parted in shock. It was like a car crash. He wanted to rip his gaze away from the being that occupied the mirror, but found that he couldn’t. It wasn’t him and yet it was: a jagged cut circling just above his chin, tickling his jaw so strangely, so uncomfortable, so unlike him. And yet… and yet.

It was _him_ , and it was too much.

Hanzo shot his arms out, desperately trying to turn the chair away from facing the mirror.

“Ow, fuck–” A grunt came from the barber when the chair swiveled to the side, bumping into a leg.

“No, no, I can’t– I can’t do this.” The regret was coming in full force now, constricting his throat, turning his chest into a vise, ropes that only grew tighter with each breath. “I… this was a mistake. A big mistake. I can’t… there’s no…”

Then, two large hands gripped his face. “Hey, hey. Hanzo, look at me. Look at me, hey.”

The hands kept Hanzo’s gaze locked on to Jesse’s – who was just as distressed, he noted, but kept it all sealed away behind his eyes. His mouth was set tight, features twisted with worry. When he spoke, though, his voice washed over him – like a balm on his agitated soul.

“Listen. Hey. You’re doin’ great. You’re doing wonderful. This isn’t a mistake. You hear me? This isn’t a mistake.”

Thumbs stroked over Hanzo’s lusciously soft beard. “We’re not done yet. This isn’t the final product. It’s gonna look so much better than this. But we can take a break. And we don’t have to face the mirror if you want. I certainly don’t need it. ‘Cause, honey, I am just that good.”

Jesse did, in fact, need to use the mirror to get the best results. But his overly-confident tone got Hanzo to crack the smallest of smiles in between heaving breaths.

The barber let his hands drop from his face, only to dip down and slide under Hanzo’s hands, resisting the urge to run a hand up into Hanzo’s choppy short hair. Instead, he rested his forehead on the arm of the booth chair, inhaling deep the cheap leather scent. His knees would ache, he dimly concluded, kneeling on the tiled floor like this. None of that mattered, though – fingers gently tangled themselves at the back of his head, trembling imperceptibly.

Finally, Hanzo’s hand squeezed back.

Jesse stood. He got the message. “Okay. Close your eyes. Deep, calm breaths.”

Hanzo did as he was told. The barber fished around for something in the booth’s drawers. “I’m turning on the clippers now. You ready?”

Hanzo nodded. Despite preparing himself he still jumped when it turned on, the buzz cutting through his frayed control. “Easy, easy. It’s not gonna hurt. Actually, a lotta people like the feeling of the clippers on their head, contrary to popular belief.”

Jesse kept up the chatter, rising up against the ever-present buzz. “The sight of falling hair is therapeutic for some people. Feel it fallin’, lightening the weight from your head. A nice close buzz feels divine; prickles all satisfyin’ when you run a hand up.”

Hanzo imagined Jesse’s hand flat against his would-be stubbly scalp. It sounded lovely.

“Gonna start from the back.”

Jesse tilted his head forward. Then again, many things that he wouldn’t spare a second thought for sounded lovely whenever he was with the barber: their time spent in that dreary basement was heavenly, talking about everything and nothing, baring their souls to each other and then laughing it off, but not unkindly. Nothing would ever come close to a kindred spirit than that lovely afternoon together.

Not like that would ever be a reality for him anymore; he had ruined his chances, now – reduced himself to a sniveling mess, at the lowest point of his life. He must rebuild himself first, must care for _himself_ first before turning to another.

And he did care for Jesse, in more ways than one. He realized it just now.

“Got the big chunks of hair outta the way.”

But he didn’t dwell on that: it was unfortunate, yes, that Jesse would never want to saddle himself with Hanzo and the burdens of his past. Unfortunate and understandable, he corrected.

“You should think about gettin’ piercings sometime. Would look mighty fine on you.”

Perhaps at a later time: when he felt more confident within his skills of flirtation, when he would muster up more than a modicum of effort to make himself presentable when facing the outside world. Take a shower more often than once a week – well. That would come easier with his new haircut.

“Almost done. Stay strong, Hanzo, ya hear?”

It was fear. It was horrible, constricting fear he was feeling from his haircut, each _snip_ growing closer to a new reality. Fear for the future, and the future was scary, dreadful tension pooling in his stomach. But he looked past that, looked past all those instinctual, gut responses. And underneath it all?

Hanzo was happy. Not just happy – he _longed_ for this, for each lock of hair that fluttered to the floor making him ten times lighter, both in body and mind. Not a cure, either, but it didn’t have to be a cure, because at least he had the courage to take the first step: to begin to heal long-festered wounds. Beginning to forge his own future, for himself.

And it was working. Hope bloomed in his chest. By god, it was working.

And then the clippers switched off.

Silence.

Silence, much like last week, from the evening in the basement. Except this time, the hush between the two men held more of an expectant air.

Jesse was breathing heavily. Hanzo was as well, he realized. “Would you… like to see?” The barber gulped. “How it turned out.”

Hanzo nodded, then forced himself to speak. “Yes,” he squeaked out.

The chair turned.

Hanzo couldn’t help it; he snorted.

Well, his face was a mess. Eyes all red and puffy, tear streaks blazing a stark trail down his cheeks. He could plainly see the lines of tension engraved all over, body coiled with obvious restlessness. He tried to will his muscles to loosen, failed, and rolled his neck instead. A startlingly short lock of hair fell across his nose.

His hair was perfect.

Unbelievably, Hanzo laughed.

He tangled a finger around his freshly-cut hair, reveling in its silky smooth finish. Shook his head to and fro. Gave a high-pitched giggle when he felt drafts of air slide around his ears, cool and smooth and near weightless. The stillness of the backroom broke with his chuckles, loaded with meaning.

In the mirror he saw Jesse blow out a long breath. He relaxed his posture, crossed his arms. His smile a little less burdened when he asked, “I take it you like it?”

The words cut through Hanzo’s remaining inhibitions. He bowed his head in approval.

The hand that curled around his own was welcoming: like it knew what he had been through, like it belonged there.

So it almost wasn’t a surprise when Jesse murmured: “Go out with me.”

‘Almost’ being a key word.

“I… I’m…” Jesse took a step back, flinching as though Hanzo had reacted repulsively. “I’m sorry, I–I know I probably jumped this on you all of a sudden. But I’ve been wantin’ to ask you since last week, but then we ran out of time an’ I lost my nerve n’ now I’m realizin’ how weird this is after…” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “After all we’ve been through today. ’m sorry, forget I said anything…”

Hanzo tugged on Jesse’s hand, getting his attention. Met his eyes for a long, lingering moment. Then he collapsed back into the chair, threw back his head and gave in, sliding a hand against the grain of the scruff that now adorned his scalp. It was deliciously coarse – tickled at his palm in ways that had him sighing with satisfaction. He shivered at the contact. Only just comprehended that this was real, that it was _truly_ real. That today had really happened. Tears streamed down his cheeks freely. His first step was complete.

When Jesse only grew more confused, though, did Hanzo grin wide.

“I’d love to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here ends the 1st part of this series! Yes, I do have plans to continue this, I just don't think I'll give it priority any time soon. Until then, thank you for sticking around and commenting, it's been real encouraging from all of you!


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